


After

by threewalls



Series: Schirra [77]
Category: Final Fantasy XII
Genre: 714 OV, Aftercare, Archades, BDSM, Collars, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-02-04
Updated: 2008-02-04
Packaged: 2017-10-14 21:10:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/153489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/threewalls/pseuds/threewalls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scratch my back, and I'll scratch yours.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After

The liquid runs clear down Basch's sides, darkening the dropsheet and tinting the washcloth blue. Basch is lying flat, with one ear resting on his folded hands. Vossler spots a streak of come on Basch's sideburn, one he'd missed, and runs the washcloth over it before dipping back in the basin. He wrings the cloth, runs it over Basch's neck, his back.

Basch shifts in place. Vossler rubs harder, following the uneven texture through the cloth, to watch Basch move. Potion heals instantly, but it can be diluted. Vossler wouldn't want anyone to see 'Gabranth' flinch tomorrow, and wonder, but tonight has hours yet.

Basch groans; Vossler repeats the stroke: once, lest his ears have deceived him, twice, because he can. Basch didn't sound like this earlier. Basch is always quiet against the wall.

Vossler drops the cloth into the basin, sits back on his heels.

Basch flexes his shoulders, opens his eyes to look at Vossler, waits.

 

 _"Do you want it all off to start?" Basch repeated, grinning. Vossler had already shucked the jacket, pulled his undershirt off over his head. Basch was still wearing all his clothes._

 _"--Yes." Vossler reached forward to wrap his fingers around Basch's throat, the collar. "Not this."_

 

Basch's trust is a gift. This life is a gift. Vossler loves the lash, in his hand or on his back; either way, he knows exactly what to do. But he never works Basch over in anticipation of a second session. He would never presume. Basch doesn't--

Basch stretches up to his hands and knees. Vossler can't move, can't speak-- he should, either, but -- Basch is smiling, crawling forward, placing his wide hands on Vossler's chest. Vossler struggles to turn his legs as Basch pushes them both down.

"They itch, and you were scratching them."

Basch's breath is hot over Vossler's face, the floor is hard behind his head, and Vossler can feel Basch's cock, rubbing along the crease of his hip and thigh, hardening. Basch is warm, solid, heavy, heavy enough that Vossler doesn't have to try to throw him. His voice makes Vossler's collar tighten.

"Would you keep scratching them?"

Vossler finds the healing welts with his fingertips, picking the lines he made earlier from those he didn't by feel and memory. Basch shut his eyes as soon as Vossler put his hands on his back, but his eyelids flicker. He grunts when Vossler scrapes a raw edge. Vossler's cock twitches; he tenses the muscles of his lower back. He shouldn't be hard again, not at his age, but he's waited two weeks for Basch, and months for _that_ , for this. Vossler can't ask, but he can't say no when Basch offers.

Basch moves as slow as he always does when Vossler doesn't push the pace. The steady burn of Basch's pubic hair shouldn't be enough, but Vossler's found a place that makes Basch whimper when he uses his fingernails to scratch.

Vossler can't see Basch's back, just the flush over his face and chest, his closed eyes and his open mouth. He pushes two fingers in, and Basch doesn't open his eyes for that, either, though his lips tighten and he sucks. Basch likes anything in his mouth. When Vossler had leant over Basch kneeling at his feet, the first round, all he could see was his own dark hand clenched in Basch's blond hair-- and stripes of pink, violet and red.

"Close."

"Are you? Again?"

"Fuck you."

"I'll hold you to that."

"I won't--"

"--last." Basch is standing, a hand held down to Vossler and his cock swinging. "I know. Tomorrow. Let's finish this in bed."

 

 _"How was Rozarria? Hot?"_

 _"Normal." Two weeks had been long enough for the empress to visit all of her many relatives (and supporters), long enough for Vossler's body to forget the true depth of Archadian winter._

 _Basch laughs. "I've already had the heating turned on in your rooms."_

 _"My rooms?"_

 _"Unless you're too tired?"_

 

It's good to be kissing, chest against chest, lying on their sides, chasing Basch's tongue in his mouth and his pulse in his neck. Vossler only lasts as long as he does because Basch waits to work a hand between them. He comes with Basch biting his shoulder.

Vossler doesn't want to move. With the empress' return, no one will come looking for them tomorrow before the afternoon, and no one will be surprised to find them both here, even if they're usually in Basch's bed. Judge Magister Gabranth fucking the empress' chief of staff, and no one but her chief of staff (and the occasional pirate or two) was once titillating ethnic perversion, but now they're accepted, old news. You have to work harder to stay a scandal in Archades.

The washcloth makes his skin sting. Basch insists upon loosening Vossler's collar a notch before they fall sleep. Vossler never fastens Basch's collar as tight as his own.

"Do they still hurt?"

"Only when you do that."

Vossler doesn't stop, and Basch doesn't ask him to. Neither are sure who falls asleep first.


End file.
